~A story about one Peace Corps Volunteer and the country she lives in, summarized in one filled/overly demonstrative/ideal night.
She comes home, happy to see her door still cracked open. She misplaced her key the day before and has been keeping it open just enough so that the lock wont click, although the past couple times she’s come back, the door has been closed and she’s been locked out. It was closed by a neighbor with good intentions no doubt, but it didn’t help. “I gotta find those keys,” she says to herself.
She half limps into the house, walking gingerly due to a splinter on the bottom of her foot – a result of chasing horses out of the fenced yard of the CH… barefoot… in the dark. She may or may not have stepped in horse poop in the process (she didn’t check, just rubbed her feet in the grass and moved on, in hot pursuit). She’s grown accustomed to looking out for CH as well as her house now, and she’s felt a real ownership and competency with both places. It wasn’t many months ago that she was fearful of all the moving things that crawled in and out of her house, or that she imagined crawled in and around her house. Not now, though.
Lights on and getting tweezers are her first priorities. Her torch light however, catches one, and then another huge cockroach loitering in the front room and kitchen. With the second roach, she begins to feel the house slipping from her possession, as well as her perception of the static nature of things. The Invasion of Nature; action is required. She starts to search for the bug killer spray, but can’t find it. Her crank operated torchlight dims down and she goes to light one of her lanterns. As she goes to put the glass cover back on after lighting the wick, it slips and falls to the floor with a resounding crash. She sighs and moves on.
Further search for bug killer unearths a moving THING on a pile of clothes on the couch. A snake. Not feeling as bad ass as the LAST time a snake was in her house, she makes a few futile attempts to pick it up and only succeeds in getting it to crawl into a crack in the wall. Further searches for spray and now the snake, and this unearths the misplaced keys - in a corner behind a door. It all comes back to her – she’d thrown the keys back there in an infuriated effort to stop the maddening banter of the bats living within the walls the day before. It hadn’t worked.
One down… five to go, she tells herself, figuring light, splinter, roach #1, roach #2 and snake were the next tasks at hand. She hears a couple noises as she starts up the search anew for the snake or bug spray, whichever came first. One sound coming from the trash can, another in the bathroom where she guessed the snake slithered off to. She’s feeling surprisingly skittish, but recognizes she’s doing loads better at these sorts of “house wars” than at the start of her service. She picks through her trash and finds a cricket and leaves it be, the least of her worries. The noise in the bathroom? Oh, it’s the sound of the leaking sink pipe dripping into a bucket. It had been leaking since the day before. When she had tried to stop the leak, the entire tube broke free from the sink and she had turned the pipes off, but not before being sprayed by water. The pipes still leaked. “Gotta get someone to check the pipes out,” she tells herself.
Turns out, the snake WAS in the bathroom, shyly hanging out in the open crevice behind the shower. It wasn’t reluctant to come out and she wasn’t reluctant to put her hand in, not with it’s mouth and fangs facing her way. Roach #1 re-appeared finally and, in a flash of insight, she retraced her steps to her last insect encounter (a trail of ants on the shelves in the kitchen) and found the spray right where she left it. “Ok roach, prepare for liquidation,” she says, no qualms about execution, gas chamber style, though she still hasn’t been able to bring herself to squash bugs yet - which would have made things much easier, she admits to herself. She lines up the shot, presses the button and… nothing. She forgot that that brand new bottle she’d bought in town wouldn’t spray for some reason.
Pausing to crank her torchlight, she grabs a broom and compromises – death by squishing… by a broom. In two or three whammies, the roach is juicing up the floor and she flicks it outside with a couple twists of the wrist. She then finds the time to pluck out the splinter and then sweep the broken glass into a pile before she lights her other lantern and goes to check on the snake again. Not only is the snake out of the crevice enough to grab, but cockroach #2 is right in the line of fire, a convenient diversion. She decides to go for the big potatoes (i.e. the snake. Even though she’s fascinated by them, she’ll have a harder time sleeping knowing one is silently by slithering around in her house). The snake pops back into the crevice, though, when she’s AGAIN too skittish to keep hold of it. Taking her frustrations out on roach #2 was no problem and she ferociously annihilated it and swept it outside promptly. Ok, 5 down, 1 to go.
Deciding it was time for Defcom 5, she goes for a forked branch to use on the snake and she fashions a makeshift headlight out of a headband and her wind up torchlight (noting wryly she’d used the headband to construct a makeshift safety glove for the last snake she caught. The Y to pin down the snake behind its head to safely grasp it, the "headlight" for an easier hands-free approach at the attack. The Y was too big, the snake retreats. She waits again for an opportune moment. The headlight fell off. She waits again for an opportune moment. She talks to the snake. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I just want you out of my house. YOU want to get out, I want you out. C’mon, c’mon!” The Y was still too big. The snake slithers into a cupboard. Another attempt. The snake slithers into a crack in the boards.
In chasing the snake around the house, she finds all sorts of proofs of life within. Poop from all sorts of things, cobwebs, dead and alive spiders. Hmm. Sleep finally overrides all other supercharged senses and though she vowed not to go to sleep until she carried that snake outside, she gives in. Tucking her mosquito net securely in at all sides of the bed, she falls asleep, queen of the castle… surrounded by her loyal subjects… or squatters, however you choose to look at it.
She’s never alone. Things are never still. It’s never quiet. Never predictable. Oh Guyana.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
A Note to My Future Husband:
Only now, after 24 years of living, have I come to most clearly apply and understand the domestic ways of living, and perhaps earn the title of "woman" a little more strongly. I'm sorry you didn't marry someone with a greater head start! Regardless, I think learning and employing the skills NOW as an educated and perhaps semi-liberated woman, I've been able come to a healthy conclusion about the work. As a teenager, I was all about rebellion against gender roles and an equality amongst the sexes. I did no want society to tell me my roles as a woman in a family function or society (that, plus I enjoyed going against the grain). I am still like this in a way - I do still believe in equality, only a different sort of equality, and I still do not do or believe something because the masses say I should. Hopefully this is something you know and perhaps appreciate about me, if not feel the same way. But, I've learned that it's not gender roles, it's spousal roles; ones given by God and should be embraced. I recognize your place as head of our family, and I as a support. The Bible says "She looks well to the ways of her household, and does not eat the bread of idleness." Proverbs 31:27. This is a somewhat separate conversation...
What I mean to get at, is that I will proudly take my role in our family, even if it means as the primary domestic spouse, for two reasons, one being the above spiritual understanding. Secondly, because I've learned of a satisfaction and pride in doing such work. I am proud to develop the skills and consider myself one of billions of women who do so, too, and I understand how important such tasks are to every day living. I know I've taken them, and my mom, for granted at times, never fully understanding the attention it requires. To be able to make the home function in such a seamless way? Masterful! Something to be proud of.
However, it's a thankless job. I don't mean I, or any woman, expect a daily, weekly, monthly thank you, I mean it is a job that's never a "job well done," a job complete. You wash a sinkful of dishes and empty the drain... you gotta wash another sinkful the next day. You scrub, scrub, scrub and get clothes clean... you gotta wash more dirt out of them a week or so later. The relentlessness, no matter how appreciated a woman will feel, is enough to wear her down, make her tired, resent the job some. (Something I've come to learn, at least. Other women will have to affirm or negate this). So a break would be appreciated. I tell you this so you'll know that even though there are roles and acceptance of those roles - whatever they may be - the roles must be fluid, at least at times. That I asking you to help out with the dishes or laundry (or whatever) would not be done out of expecting a marriage of "equality," but a marriage of understanding, partnership.
~Sarah
I don't know if I am expressing myself clearly with this "letter," though I just mean to talk about how I've come to better comprehend the complexities of household management. This stemmed from 1)recognition of the pride I feel doing such tasks and 2) the frustration I also feel at the ongoingness of it all - and this is just for myself! I don't think i could begin to fathom having to do it for a family. The awe at what so many woman (and recognizably, men, too) do on a day to day basis... overwhelms me. A toast to all these women and men. I hope to one day be an accomplished ama de casas (housewife) - among other things.
What I mean to get at, is that I will proudly take my role in our family, even if it means as the primary domestic spouse, for two reasons, one being the above spiritual understanding. Secondly, because I've learned of a satisfaction and pride in doing such work. I am proud to develop the skills and consider myself one of billions of women who do so, too, and I understand how important such tasks are to every day living. I know I've taken them, and my mom, for granted at times, never fully understanding the attention it requires. To be able to make the home function in such a seamless way? Masterful! Something to be proud of.
However, it's a thankless job. I don't mean I, or any woman, expect a daily, weekly, monthly thank you, I mean it is a job that's never a "job well done," a job complete. You wash a sinkful of dishes and empty the drain... you gotta wash another sinkful the next day. You scrub, scrub, scrub and get clothes clean... you gotta wash more dirt out of them a week or so later. The relentlessness, no matter how appreciated a woman will feel, is enough to wear her down, make her tired, resent the job some. (Something I've come to learn, at least. Other women will have to affirm or negate this). So a break would be appreciated. I tell you this so you'll know that even though there are roles and acceptance of those roles - whatever they may be - the roles must be fluid, at least at times. That I asking you to help out with the dishes or laundry (or whatever) would not be done out of expecting a marriage of "equality," but a marriage of understanding, partnership.
~Sarah
I don't know if I am expressing myself clearly with this "letter," though I just mean to talk about how I've come to better comprehend the complexities of household management. This stemmed from 1)recognition of the pride I feel doing such tasks and 2) the frustration I also feel at the ongoingness of it all - and this is just for myself! I don't think i could begin to fathom having to do it for a family. The awe at what so many woman (and recognizably, men, too) do on a day to day basis... overwhelms me. A toast to all these women and men. I hope to one day be an accomplished ama de casas (housewife) - among other things.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
I've been living with a clown above my bed...
So the clown above the bed thing.... don't let your mind take you anywhere saucy - it's a reference to a line from the movie Music and Lyrics! She writes "cloud" but he reads "clown." She asks, why would you have a clown above your bed? and he answers - it wouldn't be the first time. Let's pause for a quick titter of giggles for the scintillating banter that is befitting this genre of movies.
Ok, that aside, I like that line. The song is in reference to love, or finding a way back into love, but I'm just taking the lines at immediate symbolic value. You ever have one of those days (or weeks or months or, God forbid, years) where the simplest tasks just aren't workin for you? You can't remember to pull up your zipper on your pants... you drop your pan full of hot food... you lock yourself out of your house... you drop your toothbrush in the toilet... you can't light a proper match... (I've done some, but not all, of these recently.) And yeah, you can't even sleep soundly because of the damn clown/cloud.
The line that precedes the cloud reference goes "I've been living with a shadow overhead." I'd describe it more as a fog, rather than shadow. You feel hazy, somewhat defeated. Though you're still valiantly fighting; it just requires more effort, mentally and physically. You're puttin' forth the effort, but the universe is not recognizing it, not cutting you a break. There's no reason for despair, no real cause for tears - and any tears produced would have to be forced out of self-pity and therefore not genuine - and no cause to walk around with a cloud OR shadow above your head. Well, ok, maybe a small wispy cloud, but not a storm cloud with thunderbolts or anything.
Anyway, I do have a cloud above my bed and where ever else I'm walking, but 1) it's not ginormous in size and 2) all this stuff is just small stuff, and no need to develop a defeatist's attitude over it.
So yeah, it's weird, I feel like I'm in a funk, but yet it's not of the RAWR! proportions, or I'm not letting it get there, so I kinda feel proud about it, in some sense. Proud, but tired, tired, tired! A good tummy rubbing and "nonny, nonny, noooooonnyyyyyyy" might do the trick, though. --- any offers?
Ok, THAT ^ was a little saucy. ;)
Ok, that aside, I like that line. The song is in reference to love, or finding a way back into love, but I'm just taking the lines at immediate symbolic value. You ever have one of those days (or weeks or months or, God forbid, years) where the simplest tasks just aren't workin for you? You can't remember to pull up your zipper on your pants... you drop your pan full of hot food... you lock yourself out of your house... you drop your toothbrush in the toilet... you can't light a proper match... (I've done some, but not all, of these recently.) And yeah, you can't even sleep soundly because of the damn clown/cloud.
The line that precedes the cloud reference goes "I've been living with a shadow overhead." I'd describe it more as a fog, rather than shadow. You feel hazy, somewhat defeated. Though you're still valiantly fighting; it just requires more effort, mentally and physically. You're puttin' forth the effort, but the universe is not recognizing it, not cutting you a break. There's no reason for despair, no real cause for tears - and any tears produced would have to be forced out of self-pity and therefore not genuine - and no cause to walk around with a cloud OR shadow above your head. Well, ok, maybe a small wispy cloud, but not a storm cloud with thunderbolts or anything.
Anyway, I do have a cloud above my bed and where ever else I'm walking, but 1) it's not ginormous in size and 2) all this stuff is just small stuff, and no need to develop a defeatist's attitude over it.
So yeah, it's weird, I feel like I'm in a funk, but yet it's not of the RAWR! proportions, or I'm not letting it get there, so I kinda feel proud about it, in some sense. Proud, but tired, tired, tired! A good tummy rubbing and "nonny, nonny, noooooonnyyyyyyy" might do the trick, though. --- any offers?
Ok, THAT ^ was a little saucy. ;)
Friday, February 6, 2009
I Shoulda Been a Lawyer, Honestly
So check this out; Admin of PC/Guyana sent me an email in which they requested input on the possibilities of remote PCVs (volunteers in remote locations) riding on the back of motorcycles. They ask, "Can you tell me how you think that this might impact your life if you were allowed to do this; mentally, emotionally and any other way?"
Why, yes, I can.
Now, this has been something we PCV's have been sort of bitter about. Whether or not we have given into the temptation, I cannot say, *ahem*, though I have a feeling our inner children are emerging, and whining "But I wanna ride the motobike!" is not all we've done. But if some fancy fingerwork is something that'd get this policy to change, I am all over that. I can persuade my ass off, if in the right mood. So here's my two cents >>>>
Wow, Anne, it cheers me to hear you are researching the possibilities. I can think of several benefits to being allowed to ride on the back of motorbikes.
Logistically, it'd help even more with integration - everyone rides bikes down here, everyone takes rides from those who own them - except the PCV. Those owning vehicles are few and far between, and cabs and mini buses are non-existent. Also, motorbike travel is the common transport for short and longer distances - between villages, for example. Destinations are either too far for bicycle ride or too costly to ride in car. Also, it's just faster than cars. It seems improbable for 1 PCV to get her village and region to alter their normal mode of transport because of a policy for a distant organization - especially when the PCV is agreeable to this mode of transportation.
Mentally, having to be left behind on several occasions because of the current policy has been a disappointment. For example, we are doing literacy outreach with nearby villages where CH is establishing libraries in the schools and I have been unable to attend these outreach meetings even though it is a part of my job here. It would be highly inefficient, cost-wise, to request they go in a vehicle, especially when I am not compensated enough to pay for that. When the difference in price by car ($35,000/ $175USD) to hired motorbike ($13,000/ $65USD) from my village to Lethem is so great, it proves the same with similar trips. Transportation overall has been the source of stress in the past 6 months, for sure.
Emotionally, I'm sure I cannot adequately envision the bliss of actually riding on a motorbike through the savanna or jungle of Guyana. I've ridden on motorbikes back in the States and it is enjoyable and quite a thrill, and I can only imagine the experience through my region's terrain. I understand the risk that is involved with riding a motorbike, and were the choice entirely in my hands, I would only ride with those I fully trusted - which are few in numbers. However, even with that statement, I have learned that most people begin driving and riding at a very early age down here and are quite competent in maneuvering a motorbike. Lastly, while acknowledging that Peace Corps has my best interests at heart, I would gain an additional emotional benefit, one of knowing I have the power to make my own decisions in regards to this opportunity. If Peace Corps concern is liability, couldn't a waiver be signed for those interested in using this mode of transportation? Peace Corps' have a valid concern with PCVs' safety, however certain restrictions such as this one tend to make PCV's feel a little less adult-like, which is ironic, since all volunteers are college graduates and (theoretically) more intelligent/mature than many others of our peers.
Thank you for listening!
Sarah <<<<<<<< The response? >Hi Sarah,
Thank you for such a comprehensive response. We will let you know if we make any progress on this front.<
Hmm. We'll see.
Why, yes, I can.
Now, this has been something we PCV's have been sort of bitter about. Whether or not we have given into the temptation, I cannot say, *ahem*, though I have a feeling our inner children are emerging, and whining "But I wanna ride the motobike!" is not all we've done. But if some fancy fingerwork is something that'd get this policy to change, I am all over that. I can persuade my ass off, if in the right mood. So here's my two cents >>>>
Wow, Anne, it cheers me to hear you are researching the possibilities. I can think of several benefits to being allowed to ride on the back of motorbikes.
Logistically, it'd help even more with integration - everyone rides bikes down here, everyone takes rides from those who own them - except the PCV. Those owning vehicles are few and far between, and cabs and mini buses are non-existent. Also, motorbike travel is the common transport for short and longer distances - between villages, for example. Destinations are either too far for bicycle ride or too costly to ride in car. Also, it's just faster than cars. It seems improbable for 1 PCV to get her village and region to alter their normal mode of transport because of a policy for a distant organization - especially when the PCV is agreeable to this mode of transportation.
Mentally, having to be left behind on several occasions because of the current policy has been a disappointment. For example, we are doing literacy outreach with nearby villages where CH is establishing libraries in the schools and I have been unable to attend these outreach meetings even though it is a part of my job here. It would be highly inefficient, cost-wise, to request they go in a vehicle, especially when I am not compensated enough to pay for that. When the difference in price by car ($35,000/ $175USD) to hired motorbike ($13,000/ $65USD) from my village to Lethem is so great, it proves the same with similar trips. Transportation overall has been the source of stress in the past 6 months, for sure.
Emotionally, I'm sure I cannot adequately envision the bliss of actually riding on a motorbike through the savanna or jungle of Guyana. I've ridden on motorbikes back in the States and it is enjoyable and quite a thrill, and I can only imagine the experience through my region's terrain. I understand the risk that is involved with riding a motorbike, and were the choice entirely in my hands, I would only ride with those I fully trusted - which are few in numbers. However, even with that statement, I have learned that most people begin driving and riding at a very early age down here and are quite competent in maneuvering a motorbike. Lastly, while acknowledging that Peace Corps has my best interests at heart, I would gain an additional emotional benefit, one of knowing I have the power to make my own decisions in regards to this opportunity. If Peace Corps concern is liability, couldn't a waiver be signed for those interested in using this mode of transportation? Peace Corps' have a valid concern with PCVs' safety, however certain restrictions such as this one tend to make PCV's feel a little less adult-like, which is ironic, since all volunteers are college graduates and (theoretically) more intelligent/mature than many others of our peers.
Thank you for listening!
Sarah <<<<<<<< The response? >Hi Sarah,
Thank you for such a comprehensive response. We will let you know if we make any progress on this front.<
Hmm. We'll see.
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